¶ 1Leave a comment on verse 10
There’s not a ripple –
not a single solitary crack
in the duplicated sky;
no skewered sheen
no fissured fjord
no swallowed swell;
hard to believe this saline mirror
is the toe-tipped Atlantic
that normally beats with brackish boots
upon Erin’s western inlets

¶ 2Leave a comment on verse 20
What a further delight then
when shoreline scavenging
to find a punctured relic
in amongst the teeming late evening activity
of rummaging crabs
and ravenous sand hoppers
(my bare pasty legs the top dish
of the fast fading day)

¶ 3Leave a comment on verse 30
So just along the high tide line
marked by opaque – yet purple hued
jilted jellyfish
I find my own seashore stash salted away –
a beach ball, barely bloated
and home to a number of crept in crawlies
and crushed crustaceans

¶ 4Leave a comment on verse 40
But I’m pumped enough
as is the ossified orb
for me to hook it up
from it’s plinthed position
atop a shoring shell
and to cradle it on my instep
and to flip it, flick it, flap it, flop it
upon lumpen limbs and harried heel
all under the setting sun –
to my audience of one:
a solitary seal
interested in my cock-eyed keepy-ups
only for as long as his next meal
swims into range

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Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.

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Hi Crispin, Thanks so much for this encouragement (sorry, I’ve only just seen this message.) Really appreciate it. Chuffed for you that FGR went up…I live in Wokingham, near Reading. It would be great to catch up with you again.